A Way to Confirm Your Husband’s True Feelings - Chapter 76

Ever since he had seen his beloved wife dressed like a fallen angel, immersed in that hedonistic crowd, he hadn’t been in his right mind.

He had subdued his roiling emotions with superhuman restraint. Part of him had wanted to cut down every man who dared glance at her or lay a filthy hand on her.

Even during their conversation, he had done nothing but hold back. She said that married couples should be able to argue, but Caesar couldn’t even imagine raising his voice at her—let alone getting angry or contradicting her words. If his subordinates, especially Dillon, had witnessed it, they would’ve been horrified.

“Since you believe you have no right to interfere when your wife accepts such indecent proposals from His Highness, I suppose you’ll just stand by silently even if I take a lover for the night—or even a long-term paramour.”

The words burst from her mouth, one after another, each one so devastating that just hearing them felt like his world was crumbling.

How was he supposed to respond to that? Should he have said no, that if it ever came to that, he’d rip apart any man who dared covet her with his bare hands? If he had bared the cruel truth he kept hidden in the depths of his heart, would she have accepted it?

The truth was, ever since they married, Caesar had been tormented by the desire to possess and confine Beatrice. He wanted to lock her away where only he could see her, to control her every move.

Of course, he knew that was wrong. He knew that the moment he acted on such impulses, she would become unhappy.

Yet every time his wife gave her attention to anything—or anyone—other than him, he felt frantic. He wanted to turn her eyes back toward him by any means.

And ever since coming to the capital, that obsession had only grown worse. If he could, he would blindfold her, cover her ears, sever her ties with the outside world entirely. Even her family felt like a threat, rivals who might take away even a piece of her love for him.

Was this even real love anymore? Could Beatrice possibly love him even with this twisted, sickly part of him?

No. Even he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that. That was why he’d gone out of his way to hide it. He told himself that he would never stand in her way, that he would let her do as she pleased. In the end, he’d only been lying to himself, and now he was paying the price.

The collapse of a relationship built on Beatrice’s tolerance came far faster than he had feared. He’d thought—naively—that maybe she could still love him. That, maybe if he just avoided making her upset, she’d never turn her back on him.

But her retreating figure had been cold and unwavering, as if she would never look back again.

Caesar wanted to die. But he couldn’t. Not yet. First, he had to see her face one last time. And second, he still had to finish this escort mission for that damned Crown Prince.

As if unaware of how far Caesar’s soul had already sunk into the ground, the Crown Prince emerged from the party with his fiancée.

“My love, there are too many watching eyes in the imperial palace. Let’s spend the night at my villa instead.”

Trailing behind them with a face twisted in misery, like he was about to vomit, was Dillon.

Caesar was confused. The Crown Prince actually looked like he was deeply in love with his fiancée. If that was an act, then maybe the prince truly had the skill to deceive traitors and escape from hostage situations.

Until just recently, Caesar had been certain the prince was hiding something. He had thought that tonight’s invitation was a ploy to seduce Beatrice right before Caesar’s eyes. Had that actually happened, he might’ve slain the Empire’s future ruler in cold blood.

“Hm? The carriage door…?”

Even now, seeing the Crown Prince fussing cluelessly over a bent carriage door after helping Greta inside, the tight tension in Caesar’s shoulders drained away with ridiculous ease.

So in the end, it had been nothing but his own unstable heart projecting onto his innocent wife. Of course she’d been angry.

“Margrave Valentin. Thank you for staying so late. I couldn’t bring my knights into the estate, so I asked for your help, but from here, I’ll be under the Guard’s escort. Have a good night.”

The Crown Prince’s face, cheerfully waving goodbye, was unbearably carefree. But Caesar couldn’t bring himself to resent him, not when the hell in his heart had been of his own making.

‘Can I win her back? Will she ever forgive me…?’

From that moment on, Caesar could think of nothing else.

She’d said she needed time to cool off. But how much time was enough? Would one night be enough? If she refused him, he would have no choice but to accept it.

Still, he resolved to visit the ducal estate early the next morning.

If, by some miracle, she agreed to see him that very day…

“Tell me, Caesar.”

Suddenly, he remembered the way his wife had nearly begged him for a response.

To honor that desperate plea, he had to be honest. He had to overcome his fear. Even if Beatrice learned the truth and was disappointed in who he really was—he could no longer go on deceiving her.